Blackouts and Breakdowns. Mark Brennan Rosenberg

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      “Yea, my friends and I love this place. The drinks are strong and the dancing is always so much fun.”

      “You’re name is Brennan, right?” he asked.

      “What?” I said with confusion.

      “Brennan. You’re name is Brennan, right? I remember it from your ID.”

      “Ummm…yes, of course it is. My name is Brennan. Brennan Kasperzack.”

      “What are your plans for the evening?”

      “Not much. Just hanging out here.”

      We were at a loss for conversation. After about ten drinks, the only conversation I am usually up for is one that revolves around ABC soaps or a dance off. Sensing he wasn’t a fan of One Life to Live, I dragged him onto the dance floor and we began dancing.

      “You’re from Ohio, right?” he yelled over the music as we were dancing.

      “What?” I yelled back.

      “You’re from Ohio, right?” I had forgotten that my alter ego Brennan Kasperzack was from Columbus, Ohio.

      “Yea.” I yelled back.

      “Me too,” he said. Fuck. I had never been to Ohio and was too drunk to lie about anything so I just continued dancing. “Columbus, right?”

      “Uh, yes,” I said. “Brennan Kasperzack from Columbus, Ohio.”

      “I am from Columbus,” he said.

      Great. I tried to pull away from him on the dance floor. There was simply no way I could continue to have a conversation about a place I had never been to, let alone lived in.

      He followed me as I sat down on a barstool.

      “I think you are really cute,” he said. “I thought you were really cute the first time I saw you come in here.”

      “Thanks,” I said. “You’re really hot.” All tact had seemed to fly out the door.

      “Where in Columbus did you grow up?” he asked.

      Were we really still talking about Ohio? Surely there must have been something more interesting we could have spoken about. Having remembered my fake address, I replied:

      “15409 Cherry Vale Road,” I replied.

      “Oh my God, I lived down the street on Rolling Bluff Road.”

      Seriously? How the hell was it possible that this guy lived down the street from the real Brennan Kasperzack?

      “What a coincidence.”

      “What high school did you go to?” he asked.

      “Private school,” I replied. I figured that was a good way to get out of making something even more ridiculous up.

      “Holy Child?” he asked.

      “Sure,” I replied.

      “Oh my God, I went there too!” he said. “What year did you graduate?”

      “2000,” I said, hoping he wasn’t going to catch me in a lie.

      “No wonder you look familiar. I graduated in 1998. We must have crossed paths at some point in high school,” he said as he was patting my back.

      “Wow, what a small world,” I said as I signaled the bartender over to refill my drink.

      “Want to come back to my place for a nightcap?” he asked.

      I did, but I certainly could not continue talking about the goings on in Columbus, Ohio.

      “Sure,” I responded, “Let’s not talk about Ohio anymore. I have really bad memories about that place. My father used to beat me. The first chance that I got I left and I will never go back to Ohio. Columbus, Ohio, where I am from. I really don’t even like talking about my past.”

      “That’s horrible,” as he said this Valerie and the rest of my party were approaching. I gave her a leave-me-alone look, but she came up anyway.

      “Mark, where the hell have you been?” she asked in my direction. I pretended to ignore her. I was Brennan Kasperzack now and Brennan Kasperzack was going to hook up with the hot bouncer. “Mark!” Valerie yelled in my ear, “we are leaving, now. Let’s go.”

      “Who’s Mark?” the bouncer asked.

      “I have no idea who this girl is,” I said referring to my good friend Valerie.

      “Mark, let’s go,” Valerie said once more.

      “Who is Mark?” the bouncer asked.

      “Mark,” Valerie said as she gestured toward me. “Mark Rosenberg.”

      “You? You’re Jewish?” he said as he looked me deep in the eyes.

      “I have no idea who this girl is,” I continued, “my name is Brennan Kasperzack from Columbus, Ohio. Are you lost little girl?”

      “Fuck you,” Valerie said, “Let’s go.”

      “I am sorry miss, but I think you have the wrong person. His name isn’t Mark, it’s Brennan.” It was as if Valerie had completely blacked out and forgotten it was she who had given me the fake ID in the first place.

      “His name is Mark,” she replied, “I’ve known this homo for seven years. We grew up together in D.C.”

      “I thought you said you were from Columbus,” the bouncer said.

      I didn’t know what to do. If the bouncer found out that I was lying, I would not only not get laid, but never be allowed into Posh again. I had to think quickly. I looked at Valerie, looked at the bouncer and turned away. I then ran out the door, never to return to Posh again until after my 21st birthday.

      * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

      The evening before I was supposed to go home for Christmas break, sophomore year of college, my friend Jason and I decided to celebrate the fact that we had made it out of another semester of college alive. We decided to head down to The Park, which was a really trendy bar at the time in the west twenties that hosted an all-gay event every Sunday evening. Jason and I agreed, on the way down, to a three-martini limit because we both had to catch an 8:30 train the next morning. One thing led to another, as it usually does, and before we knew it, it was two in the morning and both Jason and I were severely trashed. It had been a really difficult semester and I felt a long girls’ night out was long overdue and well deserved. As Jason and I continued drinking, I spotted a really hot model-type standing at the opposite end of the bar. I gave him a drunk half wink and walked over. Before, walking over, Jason grabbed me.

      “Oh my God, Mark,” Jason yelled into my ear, “it’s Boy George!” Across the room stood Boy George, and his entourage of British teenaged hangers on. Jason had had a man crush on Boy George СКАЧАТЬ